This blog has been a place that I can always revisit when I need a reminder of where I have been…mentally and emotionally. The places that others run and hide from. The times when I have felt loved, respected, important. The times when I have felt mistreated, misguided. Surrounded by misfortune. 

I write for others too. So that they can know that there are people out there who have those dark spaces, and though we may work our hardest to get out of them it is important to revisit those moments in the name of reflection. 

BUT: I have decided that now is the time to archive my previous writing pieces to prepare for a shift. One cannot fully evolve if they are constantly visiting the places that cause them hurt. It is time to create new poetry, new reflection, new experiences, and perhaps new stories to visit in the future to help motivate and inspire. I believed that I deserve to stay in those dark places because it’s a part of my story. But I am going to try something different this time.

Thank you for always rocking with me, supporting mi vida LOCA! 😉



The sky is bluer today.

and the pain is still there, but it’s because I love you and I know that Ive left this earth unable to covey that to you.

I hope that I’ve been able to show you even the smallest amount of the real me

I know it can’t all be bad. It can’t all be bad, right?

Because when is anything all of everything?

I knew the day that I didn’t fear death would be the day that I would embrace it in its beautifully complex entirety. What were once dreams will be visions, what were once fears will be premonition, and I can love and live freely because I no longer exist desultorily;

and every scent is associated with a rose or a lily

every sensory is electrically fulfilling

I marry my hopes and dreams in this glory

This life suddenly feels like the foreplay before the climax,

the mourning before the peace.

starting to feel like I’ve lived for this moment

and it’s here.

so it’s okay, don’t cry for me. Know that I was hurting. I was lonely. I was dead already.

It’s all good.

I can’t help but to look up and say thank you for the blessings.

it’s why I try a little harder, I see the tools that I’ve been given to build with. I see the opportunities looking back at me in the mirror.

even when I don’t deserve it. I know I’m not perfect. But hardships just aren’t as hard. What hurts doesn’t linger, it strengthens my need to keep manifesting.

the lessons are always right on time. I see you.


Spirituality is our birthmother.

Prayer is our phone call home to soothe the chaos.

I am not the most religious person. I don’t go to church, I don’t live my life by the bible, but I pray. I pray for the sins that I know to commit, and the ones that I don’t. To be forgiven, not really for the opportunity to spend my afterlife with the Maker…not even sure if I believe in that, but for the forgiveness of my ignorance in case I am wrong. This world I live in is tainted. I pray that it doesn’t take me down with it, that I am not a victim to my surroundings, and that bad times come and go like minutes on the clock.

I pray that my mistakes don’t come to haunt me. That I don’t let go of something that is supposed to be in my life forever, that I am learning all of the right things, and not assuming all of the wrong things.

Tonight, I pray that God continues to bless me…His flawed child, and in return I will continue to walk in the path he leads me, whether I understand it or not.


I catch you staring at me.

Standing right there, feet and distrust planted in concrete.

You know that one step further and you’ll fall into me and never climb your way back out.

I watch you in question, whether it was love or hate that has brought you here.

“Keep coming”

that’s the message that I’m getting, so I chase you-

but only enough for you to give your heart some exercise.

I never told you that it would be easy to love me…

The Real

Sometimes we spend all of our energy trying to “fix” things.
Fix our happiness.

We can get lost in the shuffle of trying to remain positive, having negative thoughts or realizations babysits your ability to hold on to what makes you feel sad and “fix” it, so it can somehow turn around and make you feel whole again.

Not going to happen.

Empty confidence creates empty promises. You promise yourself that you have the ability to make others work with you, work around your problems. You can’t. I can’t. So the real question becomes, just how do we “fix” things, or fix our happiness? Well, first you have to realize that happiness is a state of mind, not a situation, relationship, or possession. Some things can’t be repaired, or maybe it was never in perfect condition in the first place, you were just in a place where broken things felt easier to grasp. I know that deep down inside, you want to let go. But you are afraid. You are waiting for it to walk away from you, for it to hurt you before it can heal you, but there is no guarantee that will happen.

I want you to be happy, more than anything else. I recognize that things aren’t where we want them to be, not sure it will ever happen. But first you have to stop denying that the way to “fix” you is to put your happiness first, and I am not that.

The first night is always the hardest

First night alone in a long time. It’s official, I am now single again. The dog keeps looking at me like she knows that I’m hurting, her eyes are deep and worrisome, just like mine. I keep battling myself, asking if I should get up and do something…anything to make myself feel better, but I know nothing will help at this moment.

I guess I have no choice but to feel this with my entire heart, allow my brain to go in circles, until it’s tired and let’s me go to sleep. I want to ask where she is, what she’s doing, but I know that It goes against the new dynamic of  our situation, the fact that we are no longer together, and now there is just me, the thing I’ve been worried about all along, and that made her day. Guess I was just the newest thing she waited on to fail.

I feel anger, which is good. It helps with the  numbing process. I keep telling myself that I can just leave and go somewhere else, that I have no reason to stay here, but I can’t move. I’ve been stuck in this same place on the couch for several hours now.


Forgive me for all of my writing errors.

I just want to get things out until they don’t exist anymore.

Fears hold us down, back, and stuck in a position that we pray to escape from every single moment we are conscious. Conscious of how damaging our positioning is to our state of mind, to our ability to grow, to the chances of someday experiencing something more.

I said that I wouldn’t do this anymore, write subliminal posts on my blog in hopes that my message comes across clearer than actual conversation. I said that no real relationship communicates this way, that it was impossible to really understand what the other was really saying when words and thoughts can be interpreted in any way possible, it is almost like staring at a piece of artwork, how can you really know what the person is expressing when they painted it, unless you were there…in that moment while they created that piece?

But I digress.

It hurts me to know that a piece of you holds on to me because you don’t know how to let go. That it seems you can’t find the significant differences between love and attachment, that you work minimally through life so things just fail, and that you simply roll onto the next thing to hold onto. I feel…no…I think that it is a very unhealthy way of living. How can you know if something is real? How do you know if what you are working towards is something you actually want? That you aren’t just riding the waves until you decide you don’t want it, and then wait for it to just walk away from you? That is a hard way to live.

I have to confess, that a part of me held on to you for reasons beyond us as well. I felt that the failure of us meant that I wasn’t “good” at something, that I would have to deal with the aspect of failure, which you know is very hard for me. I don’t like failure. My life has been full of it.

You say that you left your home. You did, and that is something that sticks with me constantly. I feel that we both made major decisions that we were not in a position to make. And that we both kind of linger on a little bit longer than we should because we don’t know what will happen if we made the decision to cut it loose. Where would you go? What happens when we erase and become nothing? when we once become strangers? Too many questions.

loved you, still do…no question. So us breaking up will make me feel bad feelings, some that you will see when you walk around me. These feelings consume me, but they are distant fragments of my mind when I am alone, that is why I beg for you to leave me to process things the way that works for me.

I hope that you find what you are looking for, and that the person you choose to be with after me makes sense to you, that they feel like home for you…and help you to find yourself. I guess I have to let it all go and do the same, as I am searching as well…and we have both been looking in the wrong places.


The Lion or the House Cat.

The Lion or the House Cat.

The dark room slowly filled with strangers with the familiar face of uncertainty and a lust for love,
or filled with the love of lust. All searching for that one moment to climax, to finish in ecstasy,
with some hoping to then begin a new chapter of love and romance with someone of the same-sex. This room, a large yet seedy nightclub in the middle of San diego's gay utopia 
of Hillcrest allowed everyone the freedom of ambiguity, to be set free in a land where they could be a lion or a house cat, to chase and devour their next meal like 
it were their last, or to sit and wait to be served by their master, to be the aggressor or to be taken down, everyone played a role. 

I needed a place like this. I needed choices. I wanted to feel the differences between being right and doing wrong, to be allowed the choice to be confused and then 
figure out the answer on my own. My sexuality had become the biggest mark in my life. I needed to find out if I was the straightened arrow that my heart had longed for,
 or if I was indeed the sexual deviant that my mind had often conjured up, I wanted to see if a woman's touch could answer these questions for the rest of my life, 
so I could go to my grave and know that in this life, I didn't make the mistake of not asking enough questions, not seeking enough answers. 
Satanic, men who were accountants by day had turn into sado-masochists, women who had children at home were there to experience another woman's mouth on their breasts. 
I stared out by the dj booth, sorted through the options. "Not feminine enough", "Not my type", "Too many tattoos", nothing catching my eye, but I remained seated, 
waited for her to walk through the door. I knew exactly what she was waiting for...

I turned around to order another drink, the bartender looked familiar, latina with a bunch of tattoos and a beautiful smile. She went out to the neo soul nightclub that would 
jump off downtown, but on certain nights she'd spend her nights in the clubs trying to attract a woman to appease her secret appetite, to get attention from pretty girls
in order to say that she'd done it. There were so many like her. 

"Excuse me, haven't I seen you down at Onyx?" I ask her with direct eye contact.
"Oh my god, yes! What're you doing here love?" She smiled big.
I gave her no answer, let her imagination give her everything that she needed. 

She waited for me, as I internally deemed her my first conquest;

Waiting to be served by the master; her obedience, my control.
Realizing at that moment, that I am the most dangerous lion out there.


I keep asking myself what the loneliness will cost me.

Quiet thoughts that control my surroundings

An empty heart that paid the highest price to go on vacation

The removal of hope that keeps allowing for me to bet on a lost dream,

Or simply the chance to fade away from society on my own terms, peacefully.

I’ve lost all before January 2015, and now I’m just ready to lay against the carpet in my empty apartment, no phone, no worries, no feelings.

New Tear

My conscience
Like it were stabbed
In revenge.
So much damage done.
Forgive me for 2014.
And give me
3 hundred and sixty something
To heal,
Make mistakes,
And repeat.

Straight Offended

Why did I get so offended when she called me straight?

My reaction was immediate, and nothing else that she’d said resonated with me…how could someone I’ve been so intimate with lower me down to something so far away from who I truly was?

I guess the only answer that I could come up with was that we (us homosexuals) spend all of our lives proving that we are indeed just as important, normal, and capable of love as heterosexuals, that we deserve to be acknowledged and are able to have normal friendships and relationships with other people without it being lowered into some sort of seedy pornographic and hetero idea for a tv sitcom, that me being compared to something that I simply am not stung just a bit more than any other name I’ve ever been called.

Hope that you read this and understand.

My dad died 3 Julys ago

If I were insane i’d think it were you standing over me.

but, I am simply not crazy enough.

I can feel your breathing though, it is short and inanimate,

like the ones you hear in those scary movies.

You were never in my life, nope.

but I can still hear, I can still feel your breathing though.

I wake up angry, every time!

it’s 3 a.m and you are here, but never here…bothering me

I say out loud “Daddy, would you let me sleep?”

ugh, you invade my brain like you are a dictator taking over a Country.

You are never there, not once…when I was looking.

but here you are, I can hear you, in my room- breathing.

You died, but I hear you…you’re still breathing.

Why, why must you leave me twice? Don’t you care about me?

But I am no victim, just moody because I am sleepy.

Dad, I still call you that because you did help create me.

You were so mean too, I remember you always yelling at me!

But now, you say nothing

just breaths late in the night, to remind me

that you, are gone and I can only see you in my dreams, or when I am awake

and the rest of the world is sleeping.

Guess you can’t rest in peace either.

I wish




That things were just different.
Easier to digest.
To be the prototype of your expectations
Or even just understanding of your limitations.
That life protected us enough, to trust
what our hearts tell us,
That we continue to hang on to the things that helps frame us.
But our minds are equip to barr away anything that we expect to hurt us,
Sometimes love puts on a costume to hide what it feels inside,
Timid and shy
Looking like that monster of uncertainty we try to hide from when the feeling isn’t right.
History writes sad stories of pain even while a new story emerges,
And your pain is more important than me, powerful enough to destroy us.
I wish that
Things could be better between you and me
Or at least good enough to start over
But after a year of you and me I’m starting to think that this is merely fantasy.

Accusation A

What I am thinking when you say that I don’t love you.


I think about my writing. The poems, the stories.

67 poems have come from my feelings for you.

28 sit in my drafts folder, the remainder posted for everyone

to see.

Each one I can read and go back to the emotion that

bred each word. Moments of love, sex, and wildness

that would write a novel, crowding up space in my mind.

Not all of the thoughts are beautiful, some are abusive

and take some healing on my side, but that’s why I am

baffled by your accusation, surely- nothing but love can

make you cry 67 pieces of words scrambled together to

release the emotional hold, no longer in control of what

is written, only the decision to be open


Not sure if it’s the time change or because things have changed

I turned the air conditioner on 69 because I keep

waking up in hot sweats.

Losing the battle over who my mind should be on

Trying to remain controlled, though my mind is on

like a light switch spasming from faulty

electricity. Its not fair that you get to sleep

through the night,

When I am the one who has been disrespected.

But I try to keep my thoughts blank, because

thinking about the unfairness causes my mind to

blank, anger rushes out of me like it were running
late, no real refrained composure, my heart

shakes in my chest feeling like compulsions, when

is it appropriate to lose control? Mourning my

time like it was a child of mine, wanting it back

because it feels like everything else has declined

around me, losing you I thought to be a tragedy

until i looked at everything in clarity, so many

chances I’ve given you to love me- something I

thought to be so special because others seemed

too lazy, you were just a really bad actress and it
kills me, how I waited out your performance

because I thought you were improving, now I’m

back uncomfortable with my back, head, and

heart hurting. You’re going to regret everything

you’ve ever done to me, of this I’m sure. When it

really hits you, its over this time for good.

The absolute

worst kind of person is the one who cheats and then blames it on you,

The one that lies but never had to;

That sleeps peacefully each night knowing that they have betrayed you.

I will forgive you, because that is just how my heart works…but I will never let you in again.

It’s 6 a.m, and I’m…

Many miles down the road in a taxicab,
Riding along to work until things work;
Staring out the window, waiting for the sun
To rise, waiting for the sun to shine,
Waiting for the pain to die…
Suffocating because I’m holding my breath, feels like suicide.
Suffocating, will no longer hold my breath, waiting for fate to decide.
Me without you is breathing again, no more tears to cry.
You without me is a relief, no more need to lie…

Congratulations, we both win.


Can be so painful sometimes.

Especially when life takes your voice away. Writing a poem no longer feels like a skill or a hobby, it becomes a task. A life or death situation that no one can save you from but yourself, words just drift around your head space; tortuous banner, taking away any ability to relieve your stress.

I imagine that is what writers block feels for you as well?

Every once in a while I stare at my blog post drafts and sigh, what the hell is drying up my creative juices these days?

Oh well. I read somewhere that “If you can’t be a poet, be the poem.” So I will continue to live my life until a movement moves and then soothes me.


I’m moving all the way down,
Motions and emotions
Toxic potion,
You tell me to keep going,
But I stop right…there.
Have I ever told you that your body
Is beautiful?
And not just any beautiful, more like
The kind that lingers long after one closes their eyes.
Art, changing a non-believer;
Perfect specimen, sexual healer.
You go to hide away,
I pull your hand away,
Baby, I know you…
Lol, shy.
I love that body like it owns me,
From each curve of your legs, to the sounds your mouth makes,
No dusk nor day break
Can keep you from my head space.

I just wanted to remind you…


You smile behind your frown, feeding me your sad stories. Proud of calculated words dipped in deception, walking backward as I put the puzzle pieces together. Throwing your words in the fireplace, let them blaze into ash through the chimney, metaphoric of how your mouth blows smoke and burned lies into my mind…

Windows/Your past

Easy to see clearly when cleaned properly.
No blemishes or streaks to block visibility
Outside you’d find sun and palm trees,
But only if you are looking.

Aka, learn from your past, don’t let it stop you from seeing the beauty of what’s ahead of you.


We are sick!
Throwing up accusations
Crying frustrations
Invading each other’s mental space
Constantly on a difference pace

But we are alive though.

Breathing life into a dying situation
Marrying hope, avoiding the devastation
Of losing each other
To another lover
Or, worse
To be set free with no real constellation;
With a negative revelation
that love could have never saved us.

We are sick, true.
But Im saying hey love! (Smile)
Theres love.
Coursing inside of our veins like morphine through an IV.
Believe me, in me, with me…
And yeah, others love may die, yet
all sickness aside, we are alive,

Healing healthily.
Stay with me.

No Breaks

2014-07-05 10.43.58

Your lips are plump


as your eyes
trump doubts

feelings solid like a tree stump

love vicious but it heals a heart uneasy

attention they try stealing

we run through fields leading away from them all

they follow but they fall

keep going

don’t recall asking but i’m all



I used to date a dominatrix

She was a skinny bone jones.
Breasts were like small bites of
Chocolate Drops, long legs
Carried a head so heavy, you’d
Think she’d topple over into
New York City passerbys.
She’d cry of society’s shallow percipience,
Her beauty a curse.
Confessed that she’d secretly fiend
For impressive intellect,
Marveled at talks of civil rights leaders
And black society in retrospect,
“Black people need discipline, that’s why I became a dominatrix”.
She wanted to beat my ass into a passionate
Submission, believed that everyone was a perfect candidate to pay for what her daddy did to her, especially the ones she loved.
she made confessions of her father’s unorthodox stance on family and romance, or rather family romance, since he loved to put his hands in places that only those molested would understand, then she would switch it up and say that she wanted to see welts and marks of pain on the skin covering my spine, it was time for me to pay the price for his crimes, “turns me on to know I’d be the one in control” but she didn’t know, that it was she that was out in the cold, emotionally starving; alone, hoping that the pain she’d cause means she wouldn’t hurt anymore.
Control is a trick
Even for a dominatrix.
Just lost in the world of her own sickness.
Her beating on anyone wouldn’t erase her dad’s willingness
To feed her life like a leech in heat,
Mentally stealing her chance at real happiness.
I let her go not too long after that,
But I sometimes wonder if she’s found
Or someone new to beat her hurt into.

Gossip grill

So what makes a bigger fool, love or pride?

Intuition makes her heart much harder than usual. Her senses are magnified, what if she were right all 
along? She didn't want to be. Looking back on easier days, she'd never have to worry
about someones whereabouts, because she simply didn't care. "Nice guys finish last", or maybe the
assholes did, but they didn't care so it was hardly noticed...moments of rejection seemed foreign
because there was always another option waiting for the call, always waiting to obtain the unattainable,
who was never really unattainable, just cautious...full of pride, knowing that love was for fools.

She was tempted to take a drag of a cigarette. Wanted to calm her nerves before she walked in the building.
Her lover, her cause for plight was currently M.I.A. Not missing in action but making it arduous 
to figure out her motives. Why was she there? Her previous route would be to find a replacement, but she
knew that doing that would only fulfill a temporary gratification, her mind would still be clouded with
questions, heart still filled with mourning. She didn't know what she was trying to figure out, or
why she was trying to hold on... but she was, and it was exhausting her.

Nowhere Fast


You see yourself getting nowhere fast
Your last passes you by,
Without a warning.
The next road, you hope
The colors will change,
Dullness from pain,
Will transform to a happiness
That rewards you.

I’m slowing down…now…
And if we don’t move together,
At the same pace…then I’m faced with
The decision to stop moving
With you.

Positivity Born From Negativity: Life

Each breath is so precious,
That if we knew how much it was worth,
We’d want to hold them all inside of us.

Life is a divine paradox.
Gives us so much to live for,
But will quickly be taken away.
No time to question why, or what
Happens next, just that we’d better
Appreciate each breath of fresh air,
Because no matter what…one day it
Won’t be there.


Freestyle poem 8

My eyes are as clairvoyant as the moon,
I see you through and through,
but yet- you are a stranger.
I've loved you until the sun calls,
while heaviness in my heart makes tears fall
Can't save myself from all of the tumors
called feelings, taking me down like a cancer.

Love extinct

She was asked about love…

“what do you remember?”

“No words” she replied.
“No faces” she continued…

“Feelings, tears, hope, the sun blazing, my eyes burning; my heart yearning. I’ve missed her. She melted me. Enough to write an entire book in my head. Kept me walking backward into an abyss, the unknowing, hurting, trusting her with only love to draw our painting. No practice, petrifying teachers leading us to failing, but we were trying to save ourselves from drowning, save ourselves from doom.”

But love died around us, died inside of us…all that was left, was the mourning.


Moments just keep ticking away.
The air is misty and cold upon my face,
I’m just waiting for something to hit me.
No answers are given, just more questions
On the test, trying to figure out if every one
Of these inquests really lead to you being
The one major source of my distress, why I am
Losing everything around me as if I were
Fighting for the last straw to my hut in a war
Torn Country in Africa, slowly we disintegrate
Into nothing, but plan on becoming everything…
Or so it seems. I’m preparing for the next obstacle
To guide me, send me into a lovers whirlwind that
Includes positive vibes and comfortable feelings,
Of You coming to our home with smiles of appreciation
Plastered on your face like plastic surgery has corrected
You, and me being happy that I have such a supportive
Partner to walk along side me as we pass through the
Monsters, whether they are people or situations that
aren’t too promising; you know you have me, as I you.
Instead I’m forced to rearrange my plans, write down my next move,
Cross out your name and replace it with doomed, we are
Like bankruptcy, waiting for credit to be reinstated,
Hoping to be debt free. Our minds are like the court system,
Seemingly giving us the chance to get it right, but again our hearts
Are unforgiving, no chance for redemption,
making the same mistakes over and over like we are repeating
strike three, serving a life sentence together In a prison
Where strangers control our destiny, from telling one that
The other is a manipulator to “convincing” us to lie to each other
In order to go out and get a drink, truth is poison and our lips
Protect the other, if you only knew that I’d rather die from
An honorable death of knowing than to live buried to my
Knees in lies, so much to lose in time, confused as to why
You’d sacrifice that just to make sure my anger didn’t arise.
The universe speaks so freely about our opportunities and we
Close our ears defiantly. Sounds like whispers, sounds like that
Misty air that hits me. That unbreakable feeling, that’s what I’m missing.
Falling in love with someone lovable;
Who deserves to be loved, but not by me
Because her love mixed with my love is nothing
More than war, and the idea of her being in love
With me was nothing more than a dream; of someone
Wanting me more than the one before her, waiting for
That moment where I’d feel so good, where everything made sense.

The Last Hoorah

Your eyes,
No hope.
A lie.
Never will
We breathe
Clean air
Because we are
By a surrounding so dirty,
By people, so dirty;
Like puppets.
You leave
8 days
Far away.
My heart will break
My air will be
Clean then.

I am smoking


I am smoking past myself
Hoping that I outlast the path of my past
Smoking the last
Dream I’ve had
And watching it burn away;
It’s going away-
Becoming what
I’ve tried speaking into existence
I’m walking hopelessly away from a distance
Reality shows no mercy when you don’t
Take advantage of your second chance
Smoke leads you into a cloud
Cloudy judgment
Leaving you asking
Where’s my passion?
Doubts, have to run past them
Until they disappear, into the smoke
Regain hope,
Until it all clears away.

WOTD- Killing pride

I suppose being a writer exposes you. Your weaknesses, your unhappiness.
I’ve fought myself to be more subtle in my thoughts and needs. Retracting back to a day where I kept everything inside, in hopes to save myself from making others uncomfortable.

But…I believe that bringing secrets and thoughts to life allows them to die peacefully. Holding things inside is like a ghost consuming your body, haunting away any growth that may ensue.

“Remember That One Time…” Conversations With An Old Friend

It has been ages since I’ve seen you…

a stranger as distant as the moon.

Your eyes say that your memory of

me is isolated too, but still we sit and

talk as if life hasn’t disrupted our

energy, as if choice hasn’t created

ill feelings, laughter comes from our

mouth unsure…you want to rekindle things.

You ask me why I haven’t

been in contact with you…well, I’ve

thought of you often, but often the

thoughts are of what has been said

and done, trust broken like a record,

20 years later and I’m still trying to remember…

you before we failed at being better

partners in crime, before the time I

watched you cry and felt nothing inside…

heartless it seems, but betrayal tends to do

those things, marriage to trust is difficult

when your mistress is bitterness, and boy

does she keep you satisfied when trust

keeps you cold at night. I needed you before

you needed me, I came to you when these

questions of sexuality lingered inside me…

you exposed my secrets like The Enquirer, yet

my loyalty is questioned like Edward Snowden.
you seem serious in your demeanor, and I laugh

at your gall, I make broken promises to call you

more. No, not anymore. A sundered stranger I shall
remain, the one friend that left you tied to my name,

and it’s okay.

Thanks for the drink.


World Wide Web


The World Wide Web.

So many things can be found on the internet.
Pictures of history,
1 or 1000 documentaries;
poems talking about love, about how their love has
“moved the ground beneath their feet!”
Some self-help sites in a multitude of degrees, from sex
to financial responsibility…one could really find the answer
to virtually everything,


Why does it have so much power over my relationship? O_o

Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, WordPress;
each one of these websites are a vessel
to my distress. I’d like to care less…Because let’s face it,
none of the people behind my screen are on my team,
but would that include my queen? The one I’d expect
to be loyal to me, and not how many times she’ll get
Woman Crush Wednesday’d in a week? Or writing something clever enough
for someone to re-tweet? I mean, can someone point out a
solution or me…? What am I missing? Has the World Wide Web
made normal communicative relationships obsolete? And don’t get me
wrong…in many ways, I am guilty…I suppose I know it’s because
I know she’d read my facebook page before she’d pick up the phone
to call me, voice messages and house phones are..antiques. A letter is
like the Sunday newpaper, nobody really reads those things! Why, when
you have the internet to appease?


Wake me up when the phone rings…let me know when you can leave the world wide web for the real world with me.;

Jack In The Box-Smalll excerpt from Auto-Biography

I stared ahead to stop myself from staring too hard.
This man, looked to be in his late 80’s, walker and all-
just sat there eating his sandwich from Jack in the box,
looking hollow and pained. I wasn’t sure if he was homeless
or not, his aura spoke of someone who was alone, I felt
like I was violating his space when looking in his direction,
something about someone eating seemed so intimate to me,
though that didn’t stop me from wondering if this was his first or
last meal of the day.

I waited for my number to be called. I looked up at the “Jack in the Box” sign.
it reminded me of a time where my meals were limited, living in motel rooms
and scrounging up change to get something off of the dollar menu from Jack in the Box.
Heavy memories came rushing through me. It was about 2 a.m, not sure what day it was,
but I know that I was just released from jail. Somebody was on their way to get me,
wasn’t sure who, but whoever it was…they had to buy me the Bacon cheeseburger
at jack in the box. I thought about that thing the entire time I was in jail (about 36
hours) I see a mini-van pull up, a red one. It’s my aunt Stacy. She rolled down her window
and screamed out my name “Kimberly Renae!” I laughed out loud. She was drunk. I suppose
I should have felt afraid or upset to see my intoxicated aunt pulling up to drive me away from
the jail drop off location, but I wasn’t. She was a pilfered individual, lost in a sea of dysfunction and
struggle, much like myself. People like that gravitate to one another, so I understood her. She was
hungry for the pain of failure to go away. I got that. I was hungry too.

I felt like a martyr when I got into the car. “You are a gangsta, kid!” one of her friends says. “I
can’t believe you got locked up! Were you scared?” says another. I shake my head no. I wasn’t scared.
I was starving. “Can you guys take me to Jack in the box by the house?” I open up
my bag holding my items from when I was arrested, still had the same $5.00 from yesterday.
At least I have something.

When we eventually got back to the house, my mom was there, my brother, cousins. They all
sat and looked at me. They were all so curious how the smart and structured Kim had wound
up in a cell, wanted to know what kind of people I met in there, if they tried to hurt me. Who I’d met. “Prostitutes” I said. Told them that a lot I’d met were there because of a man. Domestic violence, selling their bodies, drug charges. They were amused, I was ashamed. I had gone in there a poor yet intelligent girl, and came out a poor yet intelligent girl with an arrest record. I walked upstairs and sat on my cousins’ floor, took my food out of the bag, and started to eat.

I was about 2 bites in before I slowed down. I looked at my food with tears in my eyes. I was breaking down. At that moment, I realized that I was at my lowest of lows. Don’t know if I can
put it into words that will express it, it just feels…empty, yet at the same time like my body was filled
with cotton balls. Each bite after that felt like I was choking it down. Choking down my reality…it was difficult to swallow.

Years beyond years have passed, yet this memory is still very vivid. Weird, I know…but watching this elderly man slowly eating his food reminds me of myself. I wonder what his memories are, what he thinks about as he is eating, if he is still that struggling person that I used to be (and sometimes still am.)
They call my number, and I go to get my order.

Jack In The Box…If you only knew.

Peace In Pieces

Kymmie The Writer

-Peace in pieces-

Perpetuating thoughts of peace in
the form of two bodies resembling
the likes of you and I.
A piece of this relationship is contaminated
with resistive actions
and reactions causing us both to
rebel against the peace we DID share
in our once conjoined enamory.
And even with me offering you every piece of me
A piece of this, a piece of that
A piece of heart, and soul
And love, I guess.
You come back with hands open
asking for more.
Offering disharmony, the antonym of peace when
We are fighting and fighting and finally
You threw that wine glass against the wall
as if the wall were me.
That red liquid running down
Looking as if i’m bleeding on
our carpet, our foundation
-Covered with pieces of broken glass
symbolizing our happiness.
I have to get back to that state of peace,
the peace of…

View original post 49 more words

I can’t see without my glasses.

They were sitting on my nightstand just like anything else
I’d empty out of my pockets, but they were gone now.
“Where are my glasses?” I questioned. “I can’t see.”
Was I tired? I am hungover, Why aren’t I hungry?
I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.
Me vacillating has become a familiarity, my actions
have created a chain reaction of distraction from my priorities–
in what moment will I discover that I am always losing things?
First my glasses, next my sanity, because I’m sure the next time
I can’t rely on me just being lucky. “Get your shit
together Kymmie, you’re not free if you are a slave to
irresponsibility” is what my conscience is telling me. God,
I know this…I do. I know. But…
Time lied to me..it did just a few years ago when I had my back against the wall.
I was working so hard, but time told me to “Keep going”, said one day
I’d be sending post cards from exotic places, no one would know where I
laid, but would remember my name, because I was the one who escaped
away unscathed, but I am still here staring my past in the face. We are getting
closer, but when? Keep telling me to not give up, but I ask when will
I get to go visit her on Mother’s day? When will he be the one to take ME out, and actually pay?
When? the days are too familiar, so why…am I expected to
stay tamed? To remain the same?
My glasses are still missing, but I suppose I get the message. I guess…I have to keep